Nonsense and unsensibilities
by insomniac-od
Summary: A collection of short drabbles based on the series Hellsing. The main theme behind the collection is that of dreams - where does the waking world begin and the dreaming world end?
1. What do Hellsing heiresses dream about?

**A cry for help**  
  
She was falling. The clouds and endless blue sky sped her by. Or maybe she was flying. It was impossible to prove one over the other. It was really just a matter of perspective.  
  
But regardless of whether she was actually flying forwards or falling down, it would always end the same way.  
  
She would not find freedom or a pot of gold at the end of her journey. Instead, she would always open her eyes to meet the bars of her cage.  
  
And her captors would be carrying her and her prison down a grey hallway. The hallway was always very long and she would never see her captors, only the trail of their bloodied footprints on the ceiling as they approached the ocean at the end of the hallway.  
  
The footprints would always point in the opposite direction. Perhaps they had their feet sewn on backwards?  
  
She did not know. She did not care. She would open her mouth to scream but no sound would come out.  
  
On some nights, she would be gagged, on others her lips would be sewn roughly together.  
  
They would eventually reach the ocean, they always did. And then they would toss her and her cage onto a rotting boat. It was full of holes but it never sunk. And no matter how much she wished otherwise, it would always bring her to the same place.  
  
She would gnaw at the bars in desperation only to find that either she had shrunk or the cage had grown. No matter which it was, she would always find herself small enough to slip between the bars to feel the rough sand beneath her feet.  
  
And when she turned back to look, there would be no cage, no boat, no ocean. Nothing would be there but a jungle before her.  
  
And there would be nothing in the jungle even as everything was there. The flamingos would however, always be there for her.  
  
She would gaze upon their garishly pink feathers and their thousand eyes – each red and demonic as they tore her limb from limb. And there would always be this little girl staring at her as she stared at the flamingoes. The little girl was pale, almost as pale as the moonlight, but her eyes were as red as blood.  
  
"Free me," the other child would mouth.  
  
And Integra could never answer, not before she opened her eyes to find herself back in her own bed, drenched in sweat.  
  
The first few times, she had screamed. Her father and Walter would stay to comfort her until she fell asleep from the sheer exhaustion of trying to keep awake.  
  
Nowadays, she mostly settled for swallowing her tears until fatigue took her back into more dreamless slumber.  
  
But she would never forget the other girl's eyes.  
  
Red was the color of blood.  
  
Red was the color of danger.  
  
And red would be the color of her shroud.


	2. Integra and a short working nap

**When lines blur**  
  
She watched as her children clambered around her. She did not know what they looked like except she knew she adored them like every mother adored her children.  
  
She sighed in contentment as her husband massaged her shoulders affectionately. She gazed into his ruby eyes. She could look into them forever but in truth, she did not know what he looked like or who he was. She could not remember how they met. She only knew she loved him and he loved her.  
  
And that he was human. And that was enough for now.  
  
Her life was wonderful. It had its ups and downs like every other person's. She went through trials like any other and enjoyed triumphs like her neighbors.  
  
She would not have it any other way.  
  
If only she could remember what the events in her life were. If only she could recall what was it about this existence that made her so happy.  
  
She knew she loved her job. It was simple and gave her time with her family. She could not tell you what she did and in honesty, she did not know. Sometimes there was a typewriter, sometimes she would be building a big bridge while surrounded by people who did not speak English.  
  
But it never involved undead monsters.  
  
Every now and then, she would have this nightmare. It seemed so real. She could almost taste the gunpowder, death and misery in her dream.  
  
But why did the nightmares feel more real? Why did it seem like her life was instead, the dream?  
  
And then, without knowing why, she was alone in a big empty nothingness. She was floating in the stars. She smiled, laid down and closed her eyes. Her nightmare was starting again, and in them she would always see those familiar red eyes.  
  
And she knew she was home again.  
  
- - - - - - - -  
  
Integra winced as she held the bridge of her nose. Her dreams of late were getting stranger and stranger but while she knew they bothered her, she could never remember what they were about. She only knew that in her dreams, it felt as if the lines between her dreaming world and the real world were blurring.  
  
Which was the dream? Which was her real life? If she had a choice ...  
  
Shrugging off the last traces of her lethargy, she roused herself to return to work.  
  
"Had a good nap, my master?"  
  
Ignoring the taunt in Alucard's voice, she hastily patted down the creases in her suit. She heard him ask, more urgently this time, as she turned the knob to her study room.  
  
"You can't tell which is which anymore, can you?"  
  
Stepping into her study, she walked resolutely to her desk. Easing herself into the familiar clutter of papers, she began studying the documents, ignoring everything else around her.  
  
She continued reading until she was sure that he had left the room - out of boredom perhaps.  
  
She muttered quietly, to no one in particular, "No, I can't tell which is the nightmare anymore."


End file.
